I have been fighting. That is all that is certain. I have been told I was only separated from the group for a day or two, but it feels like at least a decade. I do not know what I have been fighting, nor where, least of all why. I dislike having my memory played with in such a way. It was hard enough to do so voluntarily, it's an invasion of my self to have it done to me against my will. The clear memories consist of stepping between the columns, fighting, and appearing on top of a tower in a blasted heath, exhausted, on my knees, and coughing up blood.
Atterwood and Dukek later gave me a brief version of what the rest had gone through in my absence. It seems that while I found myself fighting, they were instead transported to this dream-world, filled with shadows of reality and illusions in every corner. There is a friend in this false world though, in the form of a thin silvery path that seems to keep them in safe areas. Their explorations brought them t
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